How Did We Get Here?
by bucklind17
Summary: Rentfic.... Sometimes life doesn't turn out how you planned it to


Disclaimer: Characters are Jonathan's, not mine. And obviously, a little of the dialogue is his too.   
I just kind of threw this together in a few minutes. No one ever mentions the ensemble or what they think. I paid a lot of attention to the ensemble the last time I saw the show, which gave me the inspiration to write this. Thanks to Maddie, for reading. And I need to thank Matt Caplan for being on as Gordon (a real cute one!) and such that night, because he's one of the reasons I paid so much attention to what was going on with all the ensemble characters.   
  


I don't want to die. I never thought I'd get AIDS. I should have known, but I didn't. I loved him. And I thought he loved me. Why didn't he tell me that he was sick? Why didn't I insist on some sort of protection? Because I loved him. I trusted him. I thought we'd be together forever, that he would see me graduate medical school and we'd move to Vermont and get married. He wasn't supposed to die. The doctors weren't supposed to tell me he died of pneumonia, pneumonia brought on by AIDS. I wasn't supposed to have my dreams shot down and my future brought to a premature end. I'm not supposed to be at these "Life Support" meetings, being told to live a full life when I should had died three years ago. And I'm getting sicker. My T-Cells have been getting lower with every visit to the doctor. I'm dying. How am I supposed to deal with that?   
"I'm Ali," I hear a girl say. The meeting is starting. My doctor told me they are good for me. I guess they are. At least I know I'm not alone, but I still feel alone. I'm the last person in the world I thought this would happen to. I haven't told my family because I'm ashamed. It's been four years since I've been diagnosed. One day they'll get a call telling them their only son is dead. I'm scared. I can't help being scared.   
"Gordon? Are you with us?" Paul asks. I nod my head and smile slightly.   
"Yeah, Paul, I'm here," I say. I just wish I knew why this happened.   
  


_"Honest living, honest living, honest living!"_   
  


I used to love to shop for Christmas when I was little girl. My mother would take me downtown and we'd look in all the windows and she'd buy me a treat from the candy store. We'd have huge bags filled with gifts for the family. It was my favorite time of year. Mama's gone now. And that wonderful feeling of Christmas is gone with her. I have no one. All I have are these two huge bags, filled with the only belongings I own. How has my life come to this?   
I set out my goods on the table in St. Mark's Place. A good looking guy I see around a lot comes up with a girl in a Santa suit. They start rifling through my pile of coats.   
"No, no, no" the girl is saying. I look close and realize it's not a girl, it's that street drummer I see on the corner some nights. How can he afford such good clothing off what he gets? "NO!" he says strongly.   
"What about this one?" I ask, holding up a coat missing a sleeve. "It's cheap!"   
"That's my coat!" the man exclaims. Shit. I have to stop selling in the neighborhood I get my merchandise.   
"We give discounts!" I exclaim. He glares at me and goes to the pile behind me. He lifts out a long leather coat. My best. I've had it for a long time because no one is ever willing to pay the amount I want for it and I don't back down. Not on that beauty.   
"Fifteen dollars," the chick in the Santa suit says. Oh no.   
"Twenty-five, baby," I say back. I'm not going to do it, I'm not going to let them have it, not that coat.   
"Fifteen," she says again. "It's old." She winks.   
"No, twenty FIVE…" I say. I'm losing I can feel it. She keeps persisting and I keep lowering. Why I am doing this? I need this money, I want to be able to have a room on Christmas. She has skill, she's done this before, I can tell.   
"Twenty-two," I say loudly.   
"FIFTEEN!" she screams. Alright, maybe if I lower a little more, she'll be ok, she'll give me it.   
"Seventeen?" I ask.   
"Fifteen," she says matter of factly.   
"Fifteen," I repeat. Shit! I didn't mean to say that! Dammit!   
"Fifteen? Sold!" She hands me the cash and grabs the coat. Dammit dammit dammit. What do I have to do to break out of this?   


_ "Honest living, honest living, honest living!"_   


I stumble into St. Mark's Place. If I don't get a fix soon, I know I will faint. How have I come to need this so badly? When did it go from something I did occasionally to something I need to survive? I see The Man sitting under a tree. He jumps up as he sees a customer walking slowly, looking for him. She hands over a stack of bills and he hands over a small packet of white. I run to him. I hand out a twenty dollar bill and he shakes his head.   
"Not enough, sweetie pie," he says in that cold voice of his. Doesn't he know how much I need it? I pull out another twenty, the one saved for the electric bill. He takes it from me and puts it in his pocket.   
"Almost there," he taunts. He turns away from me as I dig into my pocket. I don't have anymore, I don't have enough to pay him. I need it, I need it, I NEED it.   
"I don't have any more," I whisper, begging, pleading. I feel my eyes start to tear up, partly from the cold and partly from the desperation.   
"I can't help you there," he says with a chuckle. He turns to walk away. With my forty bucks.   
"Wait!" I dig through my pocket and pull out my last bill. A ten. There goes the groceries. I hand it to him desperately and he grabs it from me. He reaches into his pocket and hands me the smack. I run away before he can say anymore.   


"Honest living, honest living, honest living!" Who the hell am I kidding? I'm a fuckin' squeegie man. The only reason people let me clean their cars is to humor me. Out of pity. I don't have a life. I don't have anyone. And I don't have any money. Where in life did I go wrong?   


Never in my life has anyone ever needed me. I've always been that worry, the problem child. I've been told that babies of the family are the most loved, but not me. Oh no. I was the nuisance, the surprise that wasn't supposed to happen. I was brought along because they couldn't leave alone, I was fed because they couldn't let me starve. No one ever cared about me. And no one ever needed me.   
Until now. People need me now. They come searching for me, shaking and sweating, desperation searing through their eyes. They hand me bills with cold hands. And I play with their minds. I take but I don't give. Not right away. I make them need me a little more. I string them along. They're the cats and I have the catnip. They need it, and to get it, they need me.   
It makes me sad, sometimes, to see them so desperate. To know that I'm who they rely on to live. To survive. But I don't show that. It's a business, and you can't show your feelings when you're a businessman. That's right, I'm a businessman. But I lurk in the shadows…I hide under the bridge…I hang in the alley. They know where to find me. They know I'm always there.   
I sit, silently taking in. I pull my hood over my face a little, sink into the ground a little bit more. I smirk at the sight of them trying to find me. They will. They're so out of it, they can't quite walk straight, but they'll find their way over here. Then I see her. My best customer. Always knows where I am. Always has the cash, though I have no clue where she gets it from. I heard she works at the Kat Scratch Club. I'd pay to see her strip, dancing in that cage.   
"Hey," she says as she passes by. I jump up. She hands me the cash and I hand her the smack. She grins and goes off. Shit, the rest of them saw me. Here they come, begging, asking for anything I can give them. I tease them. I have nothing, I say. Don't look at me. They don't believe me. They know I'll give in. But I'll play with them a little longer. I like the feeling of them needing me. I like the feeling of being someone important. I hold out the stash and they circle around me. Life is good.   



End file.
